


Worth the Wait

by histoiredamour



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Era, During Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/histoiredamour/pseuds/histoiredamour
Summary: Crowley's perspective on his and Aziraphale's adventures, through the events of canon and beyond.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)





	1. 4004 BC

**4004 BC**

Millennia after the fall, and Crawley still had not seen a proper angel. For a bunch of raging control freaks, they had made themselves relatively scarce - hiding behind moral superiority and red tape, no doubt. He was curious if one would make an appearance on perhaps the most significant day in Creation thus far. 

Of course, it wasn’t altogether surprising that Crawley could not see much, slithering on the ground as he was. Having accomplished his mission of “stirring up trouble,” he meandered around the garden on his belly, thinking how long such Paradise could even last.

The answer, as it turned out, was not long at all. 

After the Almighty had banished Adam and Eve from the garden, and sent them off with a host of burdens for their trouble, Crawley slithered toward the exit to watch their departure. Flicking his tongue, he detected a new scent - something mysterious and other-wordly, that implored him to scale the walls of the garden. Climbing up and up, Crawley eventually saw a man in white below, carrying a flaming sword with purpose, undoubtedly ensuring that Adam and Eve obeyed the Almighty’s instructions - this time. 

Crawley observed the man as closely as he could, before he disappeared into a crop of trees. The man looked sprightly, focused, and had the air of pretension Crawley associated with all the heavenly hosts. If snakes could sneer, Crawley thought, his expression would beat the band. Perhaps it was his lucky day, and he would meet an  _ angel  _ in the flesh, for the first time since he had been one himself. 

\---

Later in the afternoon, as clouds rumbled through the sky as a forewarning of Satan-knows-what, Crawley caught the angel’s scent again. He was perched high on top of the garden wall, looking over the east. 

Crawley slithered up the wall, hoping that the angel would be decent enough to explain to him the events that had transpired. Smoothly, he snaked around the angel’s feet and transformed himself into a man - or rather, the picture of one. 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” he remarked. He had only wanted to stir up a bit of mischief, have a bit of fun. He had never intended to doom humanity to guilt and shame and painful childbirth… He needed to understand God’s decision, and who better to ask than one of Her perfect soldiers?

He was surprised when the angel responded back with kindness. As Crawley pressed, he heard the lilt of the angel’s voice and saw the humor in his eyes, though restrained in a way Crawley was grateful not to be. The more they talked, the more Crawley felt at ease - not looked down upon or derided as he had been by other angels - Hell, even most demons - in the past. The angel seemed just as confused and uncertain as he was. 

As the angel was spouting off about the Great - Unflappable - Ineffable plan, Crawley zoned out and realized what was missing from the angel - not merely the usual metallic, heavenly markings, but his weapon as well. 

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” He asked, after searching the angel’s person.

“Er.”

“You did,” he insisted. “It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?” Crawley watched the angel look away sheepishly. ”Lost it already have you?”

The angel turned away and muttered, almost inaudibly, “I gave it away.”

“You  _ what? _ ” Crawley could not contain his smile - though it was not, as his associate may have thought, at his expense. Crawley was astounded at the selflessness and kindness of one of those whom he had come to believe were some of the most unfeeling beings in the universe. Crawley felt a nameless emotion build in his stomach, spurring him to step closer toward the angel. Admiration? Awe? Something with an “a,” he was sure.

The angel defended his decision to Crawley, who needed no more persuasion that what he did was Right and Correct. Nevertheless, the demon was still in awe of the revelation. He gazed at the angel curiously. 

The angel’s relief when told he had done the right thing was, truth be told, endearing. Crawley grinned at the usually poised and stiff angel’s desperation for reassurance and approval - from  _ Crawley  _ of all people! Here, in a mere hour, he had experienced Love for All God’s Creatures, Great and Small and Fallen, in a way he never had during his millennia in Heaven.  _ Who is this angel? I need to know.  _

As Crawley and the angel - Aziraphale, he came to find out - continued to talk and joke, he became aware that there are strict limits to what celestial beings find “funny.” Some of his less successful comments were cut off abruptly by the arrival of the very first thunderstorm. Crawley, unaware if the rain from the heavens could be considered “Holy Water” and, if he was being honest, more than a little interested in getting closer to Aziraphale, stepped nearer to him.

Aziraphale, unbidden, extended his wing over Crawley’s head as shelter from the rain. Crawley felt his breath leave his chest and felt suddenly faint, gazing in disbelief at the pure white feathers covering his head. He turned towards Aziraphale, who was facing resolutely forward. Warmth swelled in his chest as he - for the very first time - edged closer into the presence of a _ friend _ . 

The angel may have been as new to Earth as he, and he may have some moral hang-ups that prevented him from enjoying Crawley’s jokes. It was clear that the angel was altogether too good at doing the right thing. Nevertheless, if his hopes came true, Crawley would continue working with this angel long enough to help him do just enough of the bad things to be worth knowing. 


	2. 3004 BC

**3004 BC**

Another millenium had flown past Crawley, who had spent his time wandering about the Middle East and marvelling at the good and evil both man and God hath wrought in ten short generations of humankind.

He frequently thought about the angel he had met, Aziraphale. He had seemed an odd sort of angel - disobeying orders, dancing around questions. Crawley wondered if he might see him again, and what the Heavenly Host would have to say for itself, in the face of such cruelty and destruction? He smiled to himself at the thought of ruffling the angel’s feathers once more.

Popping into existence somewhere near Canaan, Crawley felt the buzz of excitement in the air - surely, something significant was about to happen - that pulled him here. If Crawley was honest with himself, he was more interested in experiencing the sights and humanity’s journey, rather than working his demonly wiles - not that he would divulge that to anyone Below, of course. He would not yet admit to himself that he was most interested in searching out the man whom he considered to be his one companion on Earth. Aziraphale. 

\---

As Crawley traipsed through the crowd, he sensed the presence of some ethereal being nearby. Shortly thereafter, he saw Aziraphale’s signature golden curls; Crawley made note to tease him that he looked more like a Cherub than a Principality. His pace quickened as he walked over to join the angel.

  
“Aziraphale!” he greeted him. The angel looked happy to see him, which was strange. Perhaps taking comfort in a familiar face? Crawley saw his advantage, and pushed their conversation onwards.

Yet again, their discussion turned towards ruminations on the Ineffable Plan. It would be interesting, Crawley thought, if the angel wasn’t so bloody keen to toe the party line at every question. Crawley could tell that there was some doubt and uncertainty behind Aziraphale’s eyes - which, if he were being honest, gave him quite the thrill - but the angel refused to be tempted into questioning. A wise move, Crawley conceded, given what had happened to him Before…

As the two stood and watched the animals being loaded into the ark, Aziraphale provided a running commentary on some of the more fascinating creatures. 

“That right there is one of my favourites,” remarked Aziraphale, pointing at one of the strangests creatures Crawley had ever seen.

“What is it?” he asked, confused.

“I believe it is called a ‘giraffe’ - or at least it will be.” 

Crawley nodded solemnly. “We never had such variety Up There, now did we?”

Aziraphale winced. “No, I suppose not. But ours is not to meet these creatures, ours is to serve God and Man.”

“Was,” Crawley mumbled, looking away. He had enjoyed his conversation with the angel, and was grateful that he was kind to him, but the man would never allow him to forget his former Home.

Aziraphale looked at him, with what Crawley hoped to Satan was not pity. He searched his face before saying gently, “I am glad we’re here, though. To be able to enjoy Her creatures this way.”

Crawley looked back at Aziraphale, golden eyes gleaming perhaps a little too brightly at his use of the word “we.” He held the angel’s gaze. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’m glad we’re here too.”

They stood in silent observance of the rest of the ark-loading and, soon, the rain began to fall. Crawley, now knowing that the rain itself would not hurt him, didn’t mind staying out. However, it soon became obvious that the weather was unsuitable for Man, Demon, or Angel. 

As the sky darkened and the clouds holding the flood rumbled overhead, Crawley looked back at Aziraphale, watching the raindrops rolling down his nose and cheeks. 

“I guess this is so long for now,” Crawley said, holding out his hand.

Aziraphale smiled politely. “Until we meet again.” He grasped Crawley’s hand and shook.

Crawley grasped the angel’s arm with his other hand, looking intently into his eyes before turning on his heel and vanishing into the crowd. As he left, several families found themselves inside the hull of the ark, instead of in the sand where they had stood a moment before. Crawley managed a grim smile, for them and for his angel… friend. But he could not stay and watch.

As Crawley waited out the long and thorough flooding of the world, he thought about the future of Mankind - and of himself. Where would he be next? What duty would he have? Would he be alone, or would the angel be there? After a thousand years on his own, Crawley thought it may be nice to have an acquaintance, even if it was a stuffy angel who scolded him for even the mildest heresy.

Crawley thought, almost despite himself, that he may have found a kindred soul.


	3. 33 AD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I realized on revising this that I took this in a much more Christian route than the source text probably intended. I decided to keep it, as I think the discussion of Jesus's death between Aziraphale and Crowley represents a fundamental character dynamic, but I do acknowledge that there is no in-the-GO-universe evidence of Jesus's divinity and I'm putting words in Aziraphale's mouth.

**33 AD**

_ Anno domini _ , Crowley thought. The year of our Lord.  _ Our Lord?  _ He wondered if he could still say that - or if it was some sacrilege to Lucifer, his own relatively new “savior.” 

Either way, this whole Jesus business was a bit of a new development for Crowley. He had, after all, been out of the “loop” of Heaven for thousands and thousands of years. The last he knew, was more or less the first of human knowledge - “Genesis,” Aziraphale had said it would be called.

Nevertheless, Crowley had been tapped to meet and tempt this man, Jesus Christ; ultimately, however, he had failed. Quite a nice bloke, though, Crowley thought. He wouldn’t have minded sitting down and having a mead. Certainly did not deserve the fate that came to him.

Of course, that was where he and Aziraphale disagreed. Rather than continue to watch the Messiah suffer, they had chosen to retreat to a small inn nearby and discuss - once again - the machinations of Heaven. The  _ ineffable  _ machinations. 

“Well,” Aziraphale began, obviously deeply offended by Crowley’s needling questions, “the fact of the matter is that if He does not die, Mankind will not be forgiven of their sins.” 

“Why isss it,” said Crowley, clenching his teeth, “that God’s Great Ineffable Plan always reliesss on the death of innocentsss?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at him, “As if I could answer you.” He paused, then ventured “And as if you’d care - you’re a demon, the death of innocents is your purview. I’m sure you are just upset at the immunity future Christians will have against your demonic wiles.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “You really think that no Christians will sin, because of one man’s sacrifice?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he whispered feverishly “You blaspheme! And besides, our Savior’s forgiveness and sacrifice will show them the path to Heaven, regardless of their imperfections.” 

“How nice that must be for humanity.”  _ Could the blessed angel not see that with every catechism, he tore Crowley apart? _

Aziraphale squinted at him. Crowley could feel the warmth of the setting sun on his back and the heat of the angel’s gaze boring into his eyes. He felt exposed. He looked away.

The angel leaned in, and spoke more softly. “Forgiveness isn’t just for humans,” he suggested, though his tone seemed uncertain. He reached out to touch Crowley reassuringly, but seemed to think better of it. 

Crowley gave him a hard look. “Is that so?”

Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I should think so. Don’t all deserve mercy?”

Crowley’s protracted silence was answer enough.

Eventually, Aziraphale coughed and began discussing the disciples and where he predicted they would go next. Crowley half-listened, as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

_ Can _ I _ be forgiven?  _ He thought.  _ Can  _ I  _ be shown mercy? _ He had prayed loudly, screaming into the abyss, and quietly, tears running down his cheeks until he could cry no more. He had prayed in Hell, and on Earth. In temples and even mosques. Still, God did not answer. God did not forgive. God did not show mercy.

_ But Aziraphale did. _

Looking at the angel, he was glad that this one was his. Well, not  _ his,  _ strictly speaking, but his  _ colleague  _ at the very least. He seemed to have empathy, imagination, and insight that his peers - both demon and angel - so severely lacked. There was a word for what Aziraphale possessed, which Crowley found undeniably attractive. He knew he would keep coming back to the angel for companionship, to share his thoughts, to seek comfort, and - for once in Heaven or Hell or Earth - to be himself. It was an undeniable quality, a  _ je n’ai se quoi  _ about the angel that propelled Crowley to touch his arm and briefly smile at him.

His smile, his care, his spirit.

His  _ humanity. _


	4. 41 AD

**41 AD**

In Rome this time, making his way north, Crowley stood at the highest level of the Coliseum, glaring down at gladiators from behind dark lenses.

Crowley was grateful for the invention of these lenses, providing him with a much-needed barrier between himself and the rest of this blessed world. No longer would Crowley try to fit in amongst these beautiful but strange humans - cutting his hair and donning his glasses and laurels, he had accepted that he stood alone on the precipice between humanity and damnation.

He needed a drink.

Crowley found himself drinking alone rather often these days - out of a myriad of emotions he had absolutely no interest in exploring. Frowning into his mug, he caught the scent of rain on the roads, herbs, something familiar…

“Crowley?”

Turning around, he saw the angel approaching him with another one of those strange smiles - whether of pleasure or politeness, Crowley could never tell. But, the angel had found  _ him  _ this time.  _ Whatever for?  _

Aziraphale was saying something about oysters when Crowley heard “Perhaps I could  _ tempt  _ you…”

His reverie was immediately broken, as he turned fully towards the angel, an inscrutable look upon his face. He hoped his glasses concealed the mirth and  _ interest  _ he felt at Aziraphale’s comments.

Despite himself, Crowley took the angel up on his invitation. The significance of the meal did not escape him. It was one thing to have a collegial theological discussion every millenium or so… It was another entirely to accept a  _ lunch date  _ from an angel. Perhaps this heavenly politeness had gone too far.

Then again, Crowley thought, as they wound their way through the streets of Rome, didn’t the angel have far more to lose? What could prompt him to have made such an offer? Could Crowley ask?

“Aziraphale,” Crowley began, but was immediately interrupted by commotion from some narrow alleyway. A fight had broken out among two merchants, and Aziraphale rushed to mediate. 

Leaning several feet away, against a nearby building, Crowley watched Aziraphale with interest. 4000 years and he had not changed - he was as proper, lively, and benevolent as ever. Surprising even Crowley, a small smile came to his face as he watched Aziraphale work with the humans, using minor miracles to set the shop carts upright and refresh some of their broken inventory.

Quickly, Crowley wiped the smile off of his face when Aziraphale traipsed back to the main road.

“Angel,” he began. “Do you have to be so  **good** ?”

Aziraphale glanced in surprise at Crowley’s informality. “Well…. Ye-es. It is quite a bit of the job description.”

Crowley scoffed lightly. “I guess I wouldn’t know.”

Aziraphale looked out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, don’t be so modest. I’ve seen enough of your good deeds over the years to know that you’re not quite as sinister as you would like to believe.” 

Crowley looked desperately around him, to ensure there were no Demonic presences who may have heard Aziraphale’s damning commentary. Muttering to himself, “No good deed goes unpunished,” Crowley continued following Aziraphale through the crowded roads. 

Suddenly, Aziraphale grasped his hand and dragged him bodily into a small building. Against his better judgement, Crowley wrapped his fingers around Aziraphale’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled into Petronius’s cafetorium. 

“Well isn’t this… modest…” Crowley said, peering around at the sparse decor and rather underwhelming furniture.

Aziraphale turned to him slowly. “Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment.”

Crowley rolled his eyes in such a way that the angel could not fail to notice them. “Spare me your biblical platitudes, angel. Let’s have some oysters then. ‘Right judgment’ my ar-”

Aziraphale had left his side already.

As they dined, Crowley found himself taking advantage of the new lenses to stare more openly at the angel than he had done in years past. The vigor with which Aziraphale… experienced his oysters was obscene. Crowley’s sat untouched. He had come along more for the company than anything.

“Aren’t you going to touch those, my dear fellow?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing his platter with obvious  _ covetousness.  _

Crowley waved his hand and allowed the angel to begin working on his own dish.  _ My dear fellow _ , he thought.  _ That’s what we are now. ‘Angel’ and ‘my dear fellow.’ _

“Where are you headed next?” Crowley asked, waiting patiently as the angel finished his ministrations on the most recent mollusk.

Aziraphale looked about. “Well, I don’t rightly know,” he commented. “It is a bit crowded here. Perhaps somewhere colder, more open. Further north, certainly.”

“Cold?” Crowley shivered. “Can’t stand that myself. I’d do anything to get near the equator for a couple centuries.”

Aziraphale looked at him curiously, but said nothing.

“It’s the old.. Uh.. snake thing, I suppose. Not that I find hellfire particularly comfortable.”

“Ah,” the angel replied. “No, I’d… I’d rather think not.”

“Well, maybe we won’t be seeing much of each other then?” Crowley hoped that his voice did not betray him with disappointment. 

“No, not for a long while at least.But this was a lovely lunch. Please allow me to re-”

“No, no, angel. I’ve got it.” Crowley paid for both of their meals, despite having not a bite ( _ like a fool,  _ he told himself). They walked outside and shook hands again. Compelled perhaps by too long in the hot Roman sun, and the city’s more intimate customs, Crowley felt a pull to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek.

Blast, he was supposed to  _ create  _ temptations, not  _ resist _ them.

Turning sharply on his heel, Crowley stalked away, leaving a puzzled and slightly glum angel in his wake. 


	5. 537 AD

**537 AD**

Despite himself, Crowley felt drawn to the damp and gloomy moors of England around the end of the fifth century.  _ For some reason. _

Crowley was well past delusion now. He knew that there was only one reason to trudge through the rain and mud and marsh - and it wasn’t to do the bidding of his One Lord and Master, Lucifer M. Satan. 

Over the past 500 years, Crowley had taken as much time as he could to himself. He knew, as a matter of course, that he did not belong around humans. He sensed that he didn’t quite belong around demons as well. And he absolutely, unequivocally understood that he could not trust himself in the presence of angels. Or, of one angel in particular. 

It had occurred to Crowley during a humid summer in Alexandria that he had developed increasingly fond feelings for the angel, and what was worse, that he did not feel remotely guilty for it.

Since they first met, the angel had shown him nothing but kindness and care. He was  _ special _ , and Crowley couldn’t deny that the seeds of love had been planted in that garden as well.

Rolling his eyes at his own romanticism, Crowley had also vowed that he needed to stay as far away from Aziraphale as possible. In order to let this… Emotion… run its course. Like a nasty bout of the plague. It would either go away on its own or - and Crowley rather thought this was the case - it would kill him.

That still did not explain to Crowley  _ why  _ he was marching, ankle deep in mud and covered in the heaviest chainmail gold could buy, towards the White Knight. The Knight he happened to know as  _ Aziraphale.  _

Their meeting was abrupt - much more so than he had intended. The plan, of course, had been to convince the angel to work together - in cahoots, of a sort. This had absolutely nothing to do with having an excuse to see Aziraphale more frequently, and everything to do with making Crowley’s own life easier. For a pack of rebellious demons, Hell was unfortunately rather bureaucratic, and with the turn of the century had been on Crowley more than ever to spread Demonly wiles in Britain. 

But alas, the angel was staunchly opposed to easing both of their burdens. Of course, Aziraphale had seemed pleasantly… tempted… for a fashion, before crushing Crowley’s hopes completely.

Crowley sighed as he walked away. Perhaps it would take more than the usual wiles to bring the angel around. 

Marching back to his tent, Crowley’s mind was a torrent of new plans and arguments to convince Aziraphale to work together. He had seen a glimmer in the angel’s eye - he knew it could be done - but perhaps he would have to go more slowly.

As Crowley stepped out of his armor and retreated to the relative privacy of his tent, he thought of how he might tempt Aziraphale. Into this, as well as other forms of… cavorting. 

Crowley did believe that this was certainly a better use of his time than the centuries avoiding Aziraphale had been. After all, tempting an Angel of the Lord? What could be more worthy of a commendation, for a demon! Not that Crowley would ever tell anyone of their Arrangement - as he had privately come to call it - but of course, if they ever found out, it would be all too easy to…

Crowley stopped, halfway out of his chainmail.  _ Of course _ it would be easy for Crowley, should he get caught. For Aziraphale, on the other hand, working with a demon , flouting his Heavenly duties… The angel did have significantly more to lose. 

As Crowley finished getting ready for the evening’s rest, he resolved to be patient with the angel. He had a feeling that the wait would be worth it. 


	6. 1348 AD

**1348 AD**

The Plague had just struck England and Crowley flew to the coast as quickly as he could. Many of his kind were topside, for the first time in centuries, and as always he needed his privacy. Little did he know, he’d find a familiar face waiting for him at a run-down pub.

“Aziraphale,” he said cautiously, pausing as he pushed open the wooden door. 

The angel seemed nervous, and hesitant to greet him. Had he made a huge mistake proposing the Arrangement last millenium? He hadn’t run into Aziraphale since, and it seemed as though he was…  _ avoiding  _ Crowley. 

“Oh, oh hello Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbled, looking around in confusion. “I was wondering when you would… ah… That is…” The angel trailed off and looked at Crowley, rather helplessly.

“Have you been waiting for me?” Crowley asked - incredulous, and a little offended.

“Well, ah, my dear boy… Not as such.. It’s just… Well come away from the door, won’t you?” Aziraphale motioned for Crowley to take the seat next to him at the bar. 

“What is it? Crowley asked, anxiety sparking in his chest at the sight of the angel so discomposed. 

“Well, have you heard?”

Was Aziraphale trying to torture him? “Heard what?” Crowley asked, scooting closer to the angel and matching his low voice. 

“They’re saying - now I don’t know if this is true, mind you - but they are saying that this is… the work of the Almighty!”

Aziraphale looked positively heartbroken. The lines of desperation on his face were unbearable to witness, so Crowley looked down at the bar. “What about the ‘rainbow’ you were on about after the flood?”

“Well, that’s just the thing.” Aziraphale took a rather long drink from his mug. “The rainbow was, specifically,  _ a promise not to drown everybody. _ Heaven is nothing if not a stickler for semantics.” He smiled ruefully at Crowley.

“That’s bollocks!” Crowley hissed, outraged. He sheepishly ignored Aziraphale’s cringe, and pressed on. “If that’s the case, what makes you so sure you’re ‘right,’ if this is the kind of thing your lot pull?”

“My lot?” Aziraphale hissed back, taking Crowley by surprise. “You are trying to tempt me towards blasphemy and I will not have it!”

Crowley put up his hands. “Look, I’m sorry, this is just a real shit show, innit? But don’t you get to work some miracles? Save a few folks? That must be some consolation?”

Aziraphale looked at him with something akin to pity. “Not when you see what’s happening in France. There’s no consolation for that.”

“No. I guess not,” Crowley conceded. He signalled the barkeep for a mead. “And that’s why we drink?”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Precisely.” 

The two drank in companionable silence for a half hour. Crowley could not help glancing at Aziraphale who seemed to get progressively maudlin as the night wore on. He eventually neglected to sober up, and instead invited Crowley to stumble outside to the rocky shore. 

“Do you like being a demon?” Aziraphale asked, slurring slightly and giving Crowley a soft look. 

“Why do you ask?”

Aziraphale did not reply. Instead, he sat down on the damp rocks, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Crowley said nothing, but stepped behind him to place his cloak on the angel’s soldiers. Despite himself, he allowed his hand to rest, in what he hoped was a comforting manner, on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Together, they watched the sun rise. 


End file.
